


One Shots - Ichabbie

by MagicInHerMadness



Series: One Shots - Ichabbie [1]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Partners to Lovers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:12:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5056975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicInHerMadness/pseuds/MagicInHerMadness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of Ichabbie one shots. Some AU. Mostly unconnected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rock Band

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my second Ichabbie work. It's semi-canon, inspired by the Ichabbie karaoke. I'm really falling in love with Ichabbie tbh. They just warm my cynical heart.

Abbie grinned as she put the large white shopping bag on the table before Ichabod. He put down his grilled cheese sandwich—his favorite meal of the moment—and looked at her questioningly. “Lieutenant, I surely hope you have not purchased a present for me. I am already intruding on your hospitality.”

“Can it Crane. It’s for both of us, really,” Abbie replied, still smiling. It was for both of them, but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t seen it and thought of him immediately. 

“Open it cause Jenny’s on her way over to play!”

“Play?” He raised his eyebrows as he peered into the bag and removed the large black box. He read the name. “X-Box? What sort of box is an X-Box?”

“It’s a video game system. Like what you do online but now you can do it alone with the tv. Everyone’s got one, Crane.” She went to the closet in the hallway and returned with another large box that she set on his lap. “It goes with this. I bought it for you before you…left. I didn’t know it went with a gaming system, or if you would actually get into it, but I thought you might find it interesting.” 

He turned his attention to the other box, allowing Abbie to take the X-Box and begin hooking it up the television. He squinted at the box. “Rock Band? How does a rock band fit into a box, Miss Mills?”

“It’s the name of the game. There’s a guitar and you play it like you’re in a real rock band.”  
Ichabod nodded as he opened the box and removed the plastic guitar. “I see. It is video game karaoke, yes?”

“Pretty much. I think you’ll be good at it.” 

He was surprisingly good at it after he grasped the concept. Abbie smiled as she sat on the couch watching him. He was having a particularly good time covering Queen’s “Under Pressure.” He had even unlaced his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. She’d never seen him so casual. “I think we’ve found your thing, Crane.”

“Indeed. This is the most enjoyment I’ve experienced in quite some time.” 

Jenny arrived a little while later with extra cheese pizza and her Rock Band drum set. She smirked at Ichabod. “You know, I didn’t believe Abbie when she said you’d be good at this.”

“I find it rather simple. The patterns work in patterns,” he replied, still playing. 

Jenny hooked up the drum set then sat on the couch and started eating. She looked at Abbie, smirking at her sister’s smile. She reached over and wiped at Abbie’s bottom lip with a tissue. Abbie looked at her questioningly. Jenny continued to smirk. “Sorry. You had a little love stuck on your face.”

“Shut up,” Abbie replied, looking back at Ichabod as he finished a round then began examining the drum set with curiosity. 

“How does this one work, Miss Jenny?” he asked. 

Jenny, mouth full of pizza, nudged her sister. Abbie got up and walked over. “It works the same way as the guitar. Just hit the right color.”

"Would you care to join me, Miss Mills?" Abbie frowned and he cleared his throat. "I mean, Abbie."

She smiled as she got up. Jenny smirked. "Uh oh. Somebody's housebroken."

Crane looked at Abbie. "I do not understand her reference. What is broken?"

Abbie shook her head, frowning at her sister. "She's trying to be funny."

He continued frowning, clearly not getting the joke, as he turned to Jenny. "I do not understand but I commend your effort, Miss Jenny."

"Gee thanks," Jenny replied dryly.

Ichabod turned his eyes back to Abbie. "Shall we?"

Abbie nodded and started the level. Oasis's "Wonderwall" flashed across the screen and Crane smiled. "I know this song! They play it many times in Starbucks. I've grown quite fond of it."

Both Abbie and Jenny looked at him with raised eyebrows. Crane looked at the screen, unfazed, as the markers began to scroll. Abbie played her parts, surprised at Crane actually singing along to the song. He did indeed know it. "And all the roads we have to walk are blinding/ And all the lights that lead the way are blinding/ There are many things that I would/ Like to say to you/ But I don't know how..."

"Because maybe/ You're gonna be the one that saves me/ And after all/ You're my wonderwall," Abbie joined in, throwing a glance at him over her shoulder. He was quite deftly handling the drums, the sticks clutched in his large hands. She wasn't sure why, but she had always found his hands attractive, especially his long, usually-flexing fingers. 

They finished the song and Jenny burst into applause, making Abbie roll her eyes. Ichabod looked at her, a half-smile playing on his lips. Did he always look at her like that? Abbie couldn't be sure, only that there was something about this particular look that made her stomach flutter. "Miss Mills, what exactly is a wonderwall? Where does one find such?"

"Wonderwalls are people," Jenny answered. "They fall into your life and suddenly everything has changed. All they'll say is hello and something about them will suddenly feel like coming home. And you'll wonder how you ever lived without them, and they'll be wondering too."

"I see." His eyes flickered to Abbie again, looking at her sister but also not at her, with her plump bottom lip pulled between her teeth. He had always found her mouth fascinating, always wanted to lick the delicious swell of that lip, and the delicate curve of her cupid's bow. She turned to look at him and he quickly looked away, hoping she couldn't tell that he'd been staring. He cleared his throat, met her eyes again. "Shall we play another round?"

She swallowed. "Yeah."

They switched instruments and Abbie held the drumsticks, still warm from his hands. The guitar's nylon strap still smelled like the fabric softener on her gray t-shirt. Ichabod's eyes drifted to the ever-enchanting swell of her breasts, the cleft of cleavage peeking above the shirt's v neckline, but he looked away before she saw. 

"Through the storm we reach the shore/ You gave it all but I want more/ And I'm waiting for you," Abbie sang, hitting the appropriate notes on the drums. Ichabod stood ahead of her, to her left, hitting the guitar notes. He recognized the song from the old iPod she had given him. 

"With or without you/ With or without you/ I can't live/ With or without you," he joined in. Abbie looked up at him with a smile, surprised that he knew the song. He blushed a little, pausing his strumming to rake his hair back from his face. 

Jenny looked on with a knowing smile, pizza still in her mouth. She hadn't really come to play so much as to investigate what living together had done for Abbie and Crane's "bond." She often found herself thinking "They're so married" when she watched them interact, especially when Crane went off on a rant and Abbie stood off to the side, murmuring along with him verbatim as if she'd heard the rant many times. Knowing Crane, she probably had. Jenny knew a few of them well, her favorite being his lamenting paying for water. 

"And you give yourself away/ And you give yourself away/ And you give/ And you give/ And you give yourself away," they sang in unison, playing their respective instruments as Jenny sat on the couch, waving an imaginary lighter when Abbie looked back at her. Abbie rolled her eyes and continued playing. 

"My hands are tied, my body bruised/ She's got me with/ Nothing to win/ And nothing left to lose," Ichabod sang, making Abbie's insides warm. She'd heard him lowly crooning old war songs but she'd never actually heard him sing. His voice was like honey, sweet and slowly flowing, filling her insides with warmth. 

She rejoined him, realizing she'd gone silent to hear him better. "And you give yourself away/ And you give yourself away/ And you give/ And you give/ And you give yourself away."

"With or without you/ With or without you/ I can't live/ With or without you." The song ended and Abbie sighed gratefully. Something about singing with Crane--and singing that kind of song with him--had left her breathless. She put down the guitar and looked back at Crane, not surprised to find him already watching her. He extended his long arm, his fist offered, and she bumped it with her own. 

"Witnesses, roommates, and now bandmates. And here I was thinking you two couldn't get any closer," Jenny said, filling the charged silence. Abbie threw her sister a look as Crane sat beside the younger Mills sister on the couch and helped himself to a slice of pizza. 

"I find this Rock Band game much more satisfying than my online ones. Perhaps because I can play it with someone in my immediate company rather than bodiless voices.” Anything he could do with Abbie was automatically better than anything he could do alone. He had always preferred being alone prior to meeting her—even Katrina had had to learn to accept his need for solitude—but with Abbie, nothing gave him greater relaxation at the end of the day than sitting opposite her on the couch watching her knit, a new hobby of hers, while he did a crossword puzzle. 

"And isn't everything better when you can do it with Abbie?" Jenny grinned at him. 

Crane nodded. "Quite. Your sister is my favorite company to keep."

Abbie couldn't help smiling as she joined them on the couch, nudging her sister aside with more force than necessary. Jenny only snickered as she handed her sister a slice of pizza. Ichabod picked up the remote. "I have found the most fascinating program. It's called Friends. They live in New York City and their shenanigans are endless. Just last night Ross got his new sofa stuck in the stairway. I've scarcely laughed so much in my life. To be quite honest, the whole Nick at Nite lineup is spectacular."

"Crane, you know you can watch all six seasons of Friends on Netflix, right?" Abbie asked, looking at the screen. "This is like the fourth season. You've missed so much."

"Astounding! We must begin at once." He hopped off the couch and quickly walked to Abbie's room to get her laptop. 

With Crane out of earshot, Jenny looked at her sister. "I'm your sister and you won't give me your Netflix info."

"He only uses it to watch documentaries, and apparently 90’s sitcoms,” Abbie replied. Crane returned and hooked the laptop up to the television. Abbie found the show and started it from the pilot, watching as Crane situated himself on the floor in front of her, the pizza box on his lap. It always amazed Abbie that someone so thin could put away as much food as he did. 

He pointed at the screen. “I think Chandler may be my favorite character. I rather enjoy his sense of humor.”

Jenny smirked. “I always thought you’d be a big Ross fan.”

Ichabod shook his head. “He’s rather pompous, isn’t he?”

Abbie and Jenny exchanged a look. Ichabod went on eating his pizza, finishing off the remaining half of the pizza. Abbie finished her slice of pizza then retrieved her knitting from the table beside the couch. 

“Their clothing is quite interesting,” Crane commented. 

Abbie glanced up from the chunky black scarf she was making him for winter. “The show is set in the late 90’s. Things were different then. Stone wash jeans were king.”

“And their coffee shop is not a Starbucks. This is most peculiar.”

“This was before Starbucks became ubiquitous. If it was set in this decade, they’d have been in Starbucks scrolling through each other’s Instagram feeds,” Abbie replied, tossing him her bundle of yarn that he immediately began to unravel. She leaned back, her fuzzy-socked feet resting against Crane’s right shoulder. Crane—normally averse to any touching—showed no sign of reaction and Jenny’s eyebrows raised, guessing from the casualty of their interaction that it was a nightly occurrence. 

He nodded as he unwound a length of yarn then began winding it around his hands. Jenny finished her pizza then took the empty box to the kitchen to throw it away. She returned and stopped in the doorway, watching as Crane held up the yarn for Abbie to see that he had wound it into a mini Eiffel Tower. She smirked at her sister demanding he untwine it and show her how he did it. Crane promptly obeyed. 

Jenny plopped onto the couch and sneered at her sister, nodding at the scarf. “Is that for me?”

Abbie shook her head then nodded at Ichabod. “This is for him. He won’t buy a scarf because the ones at Macy’s are ‘unsuitable.’ Basically they don’t go with his colonial garb so I’m making him the thickest, most basic scarf in the world.”

“Do I get a scarf?” Jenny asked. 

“You don’t even wear a coat.”

“Make me a hat then.”

Crane looked back at Abbie. “May I have a hat as well? I want one of those beanie contraptions that the Starbucks baristas wear.”

“A beanie?” both sisters questioned. 

 

He nodded. “Consider it a small assimilation.” 

“I will personally eat my hat if Crane gets a beanie,” Jenny replied. 

“I worry that that will impede your digestion processes,” Crane teased with a smile. 

Abbie snickered and Jenny rolled her eyes as she stood and stretched. “Well I think I’ll leave you two to your domestic bliss.” 

They bid her goodnight and Jenny let herself out, leaving them alone. They finished the first season of Friends. Well, Crane finished it. Abbie was asleep by the seventh episode. Crane waited until she was too asleep to awaken then gently scooped her off the couch and carried her to her bedroom, gently setting her on her unmade bed. He pulled the covers over her and turned to leave but she gave a sleepy whine. “Come back.” 

He returned to her bedside and squinted at her. “Miss Mills?”

“Don’t leave.” He couldn’t decide if she was awake or simply talking in her sleep. Still, he wanted nothing more than to stay with her so he climbed over her petite form and lay beside her, sucking in a breath when she snuggled back against him and her eyes fluttered open. “Don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” he replied. 

“Sing to me.”

Ichabod wasn’t sure what to make of her request but he obliged. “And you give yourself away/ And you give yourself away/ And you give/ And you give/ With or without you/ With or without you/ I can’t live/ With or without you…”

She lifted her head slightly and pulled him down to meet her the rest of the way, pressing her lips to his for a moment. His eyes widened and he sputtered an almost unintelligible question. Abbie gave a half-smile. “I just realized I’ve never kissed you before. It’s weird. We’ve braved certain death but never kissed.” 

“Shall we do it again?”

“Definitely.” She pulled him in again.


	2. Taco Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie introduces Crane to Taco Tuesday and 2-for-1 margaritas

Ichabod sat in the passenger seat of Abby’s Jeep, looking dubiously at the neon flashing sign on the building in front of them: Cantina de los Amigos. He wasn’t fluent in Spanish, having forgone learning it in favor of Russian. He turned to Abbie, watching as she expertly reapplied her lipstick. He paused, his question on his lips, to stare longingly at the swell of her bottom lip, the delicate curve of her Cupid’s bow. Only when she finished and turned to look at him did he look away so he didn’t appear to be staring.

“Miss Mills, I’m afraid I’m very unsure of this event you’ve described. Why is there an entire day dedicated to the consumption of tacos? And what, pray tell, are _margaritas_? Why are they being sold _two-for-one_? Is this a common modern day occurrence?”

“Taco Tuesday is like Happy Hour but with food. It’s—”

“What is Happy Hour? Your colleagues in the department often speak of being ready for it but no one elaborates on what happens.”

“Happy Hour is a special time in places that sell alcohol. It usually happens from 5 to 7 because that’s when the average work day is over. There’s usually specials like $1 beers, $5 wings, dart contests, and stuff like that,” Abby answered. Ichabod nodded, the concept much clearer. “Anyway, Taco Tuesday is like Happy Hour for food. And margaritas are like alcohol slushies, you know those things you like me to bring you from Seven-Eleven.”

Ichabod nodded again, much more excited about this endeavor. He loved tacos, and guessed he would soon become a fan of margaritas. Inside the restaurant, he and Abbie got a table to the left of the stage where the mariachi band was setting up. A waitress in a sombrero brought them a basket holding four tacos and two large margaritas, one green and one orange. Crane peered into the glass with interest. “Why is mine green? Is this made with absinthe, lieutenant? Because I decided some years ago—centuries, rather—that that drink and I were not pleasant acquaintances.”

Abbie snickered as she shook her head. “No. Margaritas are made with tequila. Usually there’s rum too, and sometimes vodka. Yours is green because it’s lime. Mine is orange because it’s peach.”

He nodded and took a sip of the delightfully cold drink. He licked his lips and pursed them. “Why is there salt on my glass?”

“The salt counteracts the bitter aftertaste of the tequila. When you’re better acquainted with modern day drinking, I’ll introduce you to body shots.”

“Is that another drinking game like beer pong?” He smiled. “Speaking of which, I found a _mint-condition beer pong table_ on _the Amazon._ Have you shopped there? It’s got the most wonderful things. And every time I visit the page it says, ‘Hello Ichabod’ like we’re friends. And they’ve got a whole list of things they think I might like. It’s filled with the most interesting books and _vinyl records_ that require some special sort of player that I’ve been attempting to track down on _the Google_. It’s all fascinating and I must thank you again for the iPad. It’s proved most entertaining.”

She wasn’t sure what made his modern-day naïveté so charming, but it never failed to make her smile. “Crane, we don’t need a beer pong table. That’s more of a college thing. And vinyl records are like beyond ancient—almost as old as you—but lots of people like them. There’s nothing cooler than Jimi Hendrix on wax, believe me. If you want to buy some records, go ahead. I’ve got a player.”

“That is most exceptional. I shall purchase some tomorrow. Do you also have a _blu-ray_ machine? The Amazon recommended _The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie_ on blu-ray and I would like very much to see it.”

“I have a blu-ray machine, and a DVD of that movie. We can watch it tonight when we get home.”

“Exceptional!” He drank more of his margarita, gulping it almost greedily.

Abbie laughed as she took the glass from him. “Easy, Crane. Those are a lot stronger than they taste.”

He smiled, licking his green lips. “I very much like them. May I have another?”

Abbie slid him her glass then signaled for the waitress to bring them another round. Ichabod drank the peach margarita with the same fervor. Abbie knew she should stop him, but he seemed poised to let his hair down, something he never did, and she was curious as to what a loose Crane would show her. The waitress delivered their margaritas, one red and one yellow.

Abbie sipped the red one. “Cherry.”

Ichabod sipped the yellow one. “Lemonade.”

The waitress reappeared, holding a larger glass. She set it down then poured their margaritas into it before placing two straws on either sides. “This is our lovebird special. Whenever it gets empty, a waitress will fill it for you.”

“But we are not _lovebirds_ ,” Ichabod replied, frowning at the large glass though he stuck a straw in it. “We are partners, roommates too. Miss Mills is my dearest friend. I am not even sure what _lovebirds_ are.”

The waitress looked at Abbie and she smiled apologetically. “He’s already had one too many.”

The woman nodded and walked away. Ichabod smiled as he slurped the margarita, his cheeks red. Abbie smirked at him. He could drink bourbon straight, but 2-for-1 margaritas were poised to put him on his ass. “Maybe you should eat your tacos.”

“Ah! My tacos I had forgotten them!” He picked up on and bit into its crunchy shell, smiling as he chewed. “These are the greatest joy to consume!”

Abbie began eating her own taco then stuck her straw into the other side of the margarita. It wasn’t long before she and Crane had drained the large glass. He heartily called for it to be refilled. A waitress brought a pitcher of cherry, and a basket with more tacos. “Do y’all want to start a tab?”

“Yeah. Just put it under Mills. And bring us some chicken wings please,” Abby replied.

“And some of those delightful fried sticks with the cheese in them!” Ichabod added.

She nodded and left. Ichabod continued drinking his margarita and Abbie watched as his face reddened, quickly drinking to catch up. The waitress delivered their food and they ate then went back to their drinks. A waitress with a mass of dark curls took the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve officially sold 100 margaritas! You know what that means!”

Ichabod turned to Abbie. “What does it mean?”

Abbie gave a drunken smile. “They play this great Jimmy Buffet song!”

“ _Livin’ on sponge cake/ Watching the sun bake/ All of those tourists/ Covered in oil/ Strumming on my six-string/ On my front porch swing/ Smell those shrimp/ They’re beginning to boil,_ ” the sombrero-wearing man onstage song.

“ _Wasting away again in Margaritaville/ Searching for my lost shaker of salt/ Some people claim/ That there’s a woman to blame/ But I know/ It’s nobody’s fault_ ,” Abbie sang loudly, surprising Ichabod.

The lead singer grinned at her, waving her onstage. Had she been sober, she wouldn’t have gone. But she was far from it, and Ichabod was too, happily joining her as she pulled him along. He quickly grabbed their large margarita before they got away from the table then looked at her as they walked up the stage’s small stairs. “I do not know this song.”

“It’s easy to learn,” she replied with a smile as the singer put his sombrero on her head. She pointed to the karaoke machine’s screen. “ _Don’t know the reason that I stayed here all season/ With nothing to show but this brand new tattoo/ But it’s a real beauty/ A Mexican cutie/ How it got there I haven’t a clue_.”

Ichabod bobbed his head to the music. “ _Wasting away again in Margaritaville/ Searching for my lost shaker of salt/ Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame/ Now I think/ Hell it could be my fault_.”

Abbie laughed, throwing her arms up and shaking her hips. Ichabod smiled as he watched his partner let loose, stepping closer to join her at the mic. “ _Blew out my flip flop/ Stepped on a poptop/ Cut my heel/ Had to cruise on back home/ But there’s booze in the blender/ And soon it will render/ That frozen concoction that helps me hang on._ ”

Abbie stood on her toes and plopped the sombrero crookedly on his head, her vision blurring and doubling as she swayed on her heels. She grabbed his shoulders to steady herself and Ichabod took hold of her waist to help, laughing drunkenly as he too swayed. Abbie laughed as leaned on him and pointed to the screen. “Last time.”

“ _Wasting away again in Margaritaville/ Searching for my lost shaker of salt/ Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame/ But I know/ It’s my own damn fault_ ,” they sang, Abbie wrapping her arms around Ichabod’s waist to avoid tumbling over.

“A round of applause for our lovely guests!” The crowd gave riotous applause as Abbie and Ichabod tumbled off the stage to their table.

Their waitress walked over and set another lovebird’s margarita before them, this one an electric shade of blue. “Courtesy of the band. After that, I’m gonna call y’all a cab.”

“We’ll just call Jenny,” Abbie slurred, plopping her straw into the drink and taking a hearty sip.

“Alright. Y’all got a credit card to run?”

Abbie pulled out her wallet and Ichabod leaned over to point at her Visa. “Pay with this one. It’s a most delightful shade of green.”

“But this one’s so blue,” Abbie replied, pointing at another card that she pulled out to give the waitress who gave her a smile.

“This is a bus pass, hun.”

“That’s my bus pass!” Ichabod exclaimed, taking it back and putting it in his shirt’s front pocket. He went into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. He placed it on the table. “A most generous tip for your delightful service, madam.”

The waitress smiled and took Abbie’s card and the ten-dollar bill then left. Abbie pulled out her phone and dialed Jenny’s number. Jenny answered on the fourth ring. “What?”

“Crane and I are at Cantina! We went to Taco Tuesday. We’re drunk.”

“Do you need me to come get you?” Jenny asked, already trudging out of bed.

“May we walk?” Ichabod asked, attempting for a second time to get to his feet only to have gravity pull him back down.

“No,” Jenny answered. “Stay put. I’m on my way.”

Abbie hung up as their waitress returned. “Jenny’s coming!”

“Good for y’all.” She put Abbie’s card in her wallet then put the wallet in Abbie’s purse. Abbie stood on shaky legs and pulled Crane from his seat. They stumbled out of the bar, bumping into each other and giggling drunkenly as they walked. Outside, they sat on the curb waiting for Jenny.

Ichabod rocked back and forth, tapping his hands on his knees. “ _So show me family/ Ho!_ ”

“ _All the blood that I will bleed!/ Hey!_ ” Abbie replied.

“ _I don’t know where I belong!/ Ho!_ ”

“ _I don’t know where I went wrong! Hey!_ ”

“ _But I can write a song! Ho!_ ”

They snickered, the song a favorite of theirs, swaying as they sat on the curb. “ _I belong with you/ You belong with me/ You’re my sweetheart/ I belong with you/ You belong with me/ You’re my sweetheart._ ”

Jenny’s Tahoe slowed to a stop before them and she got out of the car, a smirk on her face as she stood before her sister and Ichabod. “You two wanna explain?”

“It’s Taco Tuesday and they had two-for-one margaritas,” Ichabod answered, “a surprisingly bountiful offer. We had chicken wings and those fried sticks with the cheese in them.”

Abbie grinned. “And we got to sing onstage with the band and they gave me a sombrero.”

“That you gave to Crane,” Jenny replied, unable to stop smirking.

“I think I look rather dashing,” Ichabod interjected.

Jenny smiled as she pulled out her phone. “You do. Smile.”

Abbie grinned broadly as she leaned on Ichabod’s shoulder and he leaned down to rest his head on hers, knocking his hat even more askew as he grinned at Jenny’s camera. She snapped their picture and nodded at it. “That’s definitely going on the Christmas card. Let’s go you two.”

Ichabod scrambled to his feet and helped Abbie up then into the backseat. Jenny got in and looked back at them, both pleasantly marinating in their intoxication. “Seatbelts on and windows up unless someone needs to vomit. Do not vomit in this car. I will kill you both and make it look like an accident. Believe me, I know how.”

Abbie laughed as she put on her seatbelt and Ichabod did the same then looked at Jenny. “May we stop somewhere for more margaritas? I’ve recently learned that they come in cans sold in gas stations.”

“No more margaritas. We’re going home so you two can go to bed.”

“But we have the Spongebob movie on DVD and Crane’s never seen it,” Abbie whined.

Jenny looked back at her older sister. “Home. Bed. No questions.”

“This is most unfair, the grievances for which revolutions are fought,” Ichabod muttered.

“Can it Yankee Doodle,” Jenny admonished then turned up the radio.

Ichabod smiled at the song playing then turned to Abbie. “I most enjoy this song, leiutenenenant. That’s a rather fun word to say, I’ve recently discovered. I’ve no idea who _Marvin Gaye_ is but this song is most exceptional.”

Abbie giggled. “Marvin Gaye makes sex music, Crane.”

“Ah. Then this explicates the ‘it’ the singers must get on.”

“ _You’ve got to give it up to me/ I’m screaming mercy mercy please/ Just like they say it in the song/ Until the dawn/ Let’s Marvin Gaye and get it on_ ,” Abbie sang, bobbing her head to the music.

Jenny rolled her eyes as she pulled into a gas station and stopped at a pump. She turned to look back at them as she cut the ignition. “I’m going to pay for gas. I’m locking the doors. Do not open the doors. Do not try to get out or let anyone in. If you promise to be good, I’ll bring you slushies. Do you promise?”

“Yes,” Abbie answered.

Ichabod nodded. “I will promise but only on the condition that my slushie contain alcohol.”

“No.” She looked at them one last time then got out of the car and went into the gas station.

Abbie unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over the console to change the radio then plopped back onto the backseat beside Ichabod, looking over at him with a tipsy smile. “You’re so tall. How’d you get so tall? And pale. You’re so pale, Crane!”

Ichabod snickered. “Well I’m English. We’re a pale bunch.”

He was surprised when Abbie took hold of his face, squishing the lower half in her tiny hand. “Either way, you’re adorable.”

Ichabod smiled, reaching up to pinch Abbie’s cheek. “You’re adorable as well, leiutenenenant. That word is becoming terribly difficult to say. I believe my tongue is abandoning me.”

“Let me see it.”

Ichabod snickered then stuck out his tongue. He yelped when Abbie nipped the tip of it, leaning back away from her as she laughed. “You bit my tongue!”

Her voice dropped to a whisper as she stopped laughing. “Call me Abbie.”

Ichabod hiccupped. “Abbie…Abbie…Abbie… Such a lovely name.”

Abbie took hold of his face, leaning closer to him. “Say it one more time.”

“Abbie.” The last capitulation earned him a drunken kiss pressed gently to his lips as Abbie leaned against him.

Ichabod smiled against her mouth. “Had I known such a small concession to decency would earn me such ripe rewards, I would have made it ages ago, and without margaritas and fried cheese on my breath.”

They were still trading soft drunken kisses when Jenny got back in the car. She rolled her eyes at Abbie half-straddling Ichabod’s half-reclining frame. “Don’t make me come back there. Butts on seats. Seatbelts on. Hands in laps. Your _own_ laps.”

Abbie smirked as she did as she was told. Ichabod looked at her, his eyebrows raised as he grinned. “Fear not. We shall soon be away from her watchful eyes.”


	3. Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After trimming the tree, Abbie and Ichabod hang some mistletoe.

“ _Have yourself a merry little Christmas/ Let your heart be light/ From now on/ Our troubles will be out of sight_ ,” Abbie sang as she wrapped gold garland around the Christmas tree. Ichabod sat on the couch, a mug of hot cider warming his hands, watching her with a smile. After he set up the tree, she had turned on a radio station playing Christmas music and dragged out a large cardboard box of Christmas decorations. “ _Have yourself a merry little Christmas/ Make the Yule-tide gay/ From now on/ Our troubles will be miles away_ …”

“ _Here we are as in olden days/ Happy golden days of yore/ Faithful friends who are dear to us/ Gather near to us once more_ ,” Ichabod chimed in, unable to stop smiling at Abbie as she pulled out a strand of Christmas lights. She wore a large dark red sweater with a snowman on it, not unlike the green one Ichabod wore, and black leggings tucked into fuzzy gray socks. The sweaters had been a gift from Jenny to celebrate their first Christmas as roommates.

She held it up. “Do you think lights _and_ garland will be too much together?”

“I would prefer the lights to the garland,” he replied.

Abbie nodded then took the garland off the tree and replaced it with the lights. She stopped when she couldn’t reach and looked around for Ichabod only to find him behind her, readily taking the lights and wrapping it around the top of the tree. Abbie looked up at him with a smirk. “Next year, we’re getting a little tree.”

“This one is quite little. At least from where I’m standing,” he replied as he finished. The tree could only be considered little when Crane stood beside it, standing slightly taller. Abbie only smiled, moving to the box of ornaments. She picked up a slender box of gold balls and began arranging them on the branches. Ichabod picked out the box of identical silver balls. “It is quite interesting that an entire market exists for Christmas decorations.”

“Was Christmas not a big deal in your time?”

Ichabod shook his head. “Katrina and her family were Puritans. Christmas was a time for even more staunch worship than usual. There were no decorations or carols, not even a nativity scene. It was considered idol-making.”

Abbie smirked. “Sounds festive.”

“I find your traditions much more enjoyable.” He began placing plastic candy canes on the tree. Admittedly, anything with Abbie was more enjoyable.

Abbie nodded, squatting to adjust the tree’s red skirt. She stood and went back into the box to retrieve the large gold star to top the tree. Ichabod took it with a smile and placed it atop the large tree. Abbie plugged in the lights and the tree glowed in its corner.

“Miss Mills, what do I do with this?” Abbie looked up to find him holding a sprig of mistletoe.

“Uh, put it…” She looked around the room. “Put it in the middle of the doorway.”

He nodded, walking to the doorway separating the living room and kitchen. Abbie followed with a stepstool, standing on it to use a tiny velvet bow backed with tape to secure the mistletoe to the doorframe. “What does this do, Miss Mills?”

“I’m not really sure why, but you’re supposed to kiss under it,” Abbie answered, becoming acutely aware that they were standing beneath it.

“Why must you kiss under it specifically?”

“It’s just a tradition, Crane.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “There must be some historical context for it. Perhaps in the past—”

Abbie’s lips on his cut him off with a gentle peck, her hands on his shoulders. She pulled away and looked at him. “It’s just a holiday thing. Don’t think so hard about it.”

Ichabod’s hands clasped her waist and he pulled her in for another kiss, this one just as brief as the first but with more fervor. He pulled away and looked at her curiously. “Like so?”

Abbie’s face flushed, her body acutely aware of his hands still holding her. She leaned into him, letting her arms rest gently on his shoulders. “Definitely.”

This kiss had lost all its tenuousness, instead taking on a curiosity that had been years in the making. Abbie stood on her toes, pressing against Ichabod. He smelled like soap, warmth, the hickory wood of the fireplace, and soft detergent, and something decidedly Crane—it was all over his coat too—that made her stomach flutter each time he was near. He tasted vaguely of cider, the stubble of his beard brushing gently against her chin. Both sure they’d properly and irreversibly crossed the line, they stopped kissing, their foreheads resting against each other.

Ichabod smiled, in no rush to let her go. “ _Oh the weather outside is frightful/ But the fire is so delightful/ And since we’ve no place to go/ Let it snow/ Let it snow/ Let it snow_ …”

Abbie giggled, allowing him to hoist her off the stool. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her face into his neck. “ _It doesn’t show signs of stopping/ And I’ve got some corn for popping/ The lights are turned way down low/ Let it snow/ Let it snow/ Let it snow_ …”

“ _When we finally kiss goodnight/ How I’ll hate going out in the storm/ But if you’ll really hold me tight/ All the way home I’ll be warm_ …” Ichabod set Abbie down, standing her on his toes as he began waltzing her around.

Abbie wrapped her arms around his neck, looking up at him with a smile. “ _The fire is slowly dying/ And my dear, we’re still goodbying/ As long as you love me so/ Let it snow/ Let it snow/ Let it snow_ …”

Ichabod brushed her hair back from her face. “Shall we go for another round under the mistletoe?”

“I don’t think we need it this time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to review or leave kudos XOXOXO


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